


Sanctuary

by BrevitySoulWit93



Series: Only For You [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Boys In Love, Canon Era, Cuddling, Destiny, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I think most of this series is going to be set in Arthur's chambers, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Post-Battle, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrevitySoulWit93/pseuds/BrevitySoulWit93
Summary: Arthur only ever feels prepared for battle if Merlin dresses him in his armour. Merlin only ever feels calm when he's removing it afterwards. The boys wind down after a battle.Domestic fluff.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Only For You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138946
Comments: 10
Kudos: 181





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> Part four of the 'Only for You' series, again we have Arthur's POV. I love this little one. It seems I'm writing a long fic in the form of several short ones, so there we go. This is most definitely a continuation of the previous three. The rating is a tad higher, purely for some extra kissing. No hands below the waist, don't worry. 
> 
> Un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

The single task Merlin could be counted upon to perform with the due diligence and respect it required was dressing and undressing Arthur in his armour. Since (almost) the very beginning, he’d seemed to take great care with this particular duty, and Arthur quickly grew to seek comfort in those moments. When Merlin prepared him for battle, Arthur never failed to notice the way the sorcerer stemmed the trembling in his fingers to fasten buckles, or adjust chainmail, or tighten laces. It became a tradition: a ritual that must be followed to ensure their mutual safety. They both found solace and courage in these silent moments, and even more when the time came to undo all of the previous work, sometimes days later.

On this particular occasion, Arthur had been in his armour for three solid days, and was all but dead on his feet. Merlin, to his credit, had rode on ahead and summoned a bath to the prince’s chambers. As soon as Arthur stumbled through the door, exhausted on his aching feet, Merlin looped one arm around his waist and led him towards the laden table.

“Would you prefer to bathe first, or eat?” he queried, as though he himself had not also been waging war on the enemy, albeit unseen by the other knights. As always, he and Arthur had tried to keep one another within sight at all times, and, as always, this very thing had almost cost them the battle. After casting his sweat soaked leather gloves away, Arthur grabbed a hunk of bread and turned his gaze towards Merlin.

The sorcerer was even paler than usual, his blue eyes underscored by purple shining through the almost transparent skin underneath. Still, he held tightly to Arthur, a look of wonderment evident on his face as though he still could not believe he was allowed to touch the prince in this way.

“The first thing I want to do is get out of this armour,” Arthur groaned around a mouthful of bread. He felt as though he was solidifying inside the metal suit, his joints stiffening with every passing moment. So many times had the prince and his manservant gone through this custom that Arthur knew better than to try and help, and so instead grabbed a handful of grapes to feed to Merlin as he worked.

First, the sorcerer’s clever fingers worked at the fastenings of one vambrace then the other; Arthur watched in fascination as the other man chewed meditatively upon the sweet fruit slipped between his lips while he freed each forearm from their confines. The bliss of circling his throbbing wrists made Arthur sigh in pleasure. That sigh grew in volume to an audible groan when Merlin pressed the pad of his thumb against the veins on the soft undersides of Arthur’s wrists, one at a time, his eyes flashing molten as he dulled the pain which the prince knew he sensed keenly.

“Normally I’d tell you off for doing that without permission,” chided Arthur, leaning in to butt his forehead against Merlin’s playfully, even as his eyes drooped with tiredness.

“I’m hoping you’re too sleepy and hungry and filthy to care, you clotpole,” Merlin replied lightly, moving around to undo the buckle at Arthur’s shoulder blade. As soon as he was released from the confines of the pauldrons, Merlin’s hands rested on his shoulders. The tingling heat of healing magic, though expected, did not come. Instead, Arthur felt the warmth of Merlin’s body against his back, and a gentle kiss was placed upon the nape of his grimy neck.

After a beat, both of Merlin’s arms snaked around Arthur’s waist from behind, his nose suddenly buried into the prince’s mail covered shoulder. Arthur rested his hands over Merlin’s were they lay clasped upon his abdomen.

“I’m proud of you,” Merlin muttered almost inaudibly. Something in his tone hinted at the mortification this utterance caused him, and Arthur basked in the flare of pride and love which sparked in his chest. He knew the best course of action when faced with a sincere Merlin was to rebuff it with some poorly executed joke, followed swiftly by a personal insult, but on this occasion he just didn’t have it in him.

“I’m proud of us both,” Arthur responded. “I’ve never been in a battle like that before. Cenred is growing bolder, and I don’t like it. But still, we’re here and Camelot is safe. We’re safe.”

“Safe,” Merlin grunted in assent, heaving a deep inhale as though the stench of stale sweat wasn’t making both of their eyes water.

For a moment, Arthur allowed himself to feel just that: safe. Safe in his home, in the arms of the man who’d proved time and time again how worthy he was of the world and his position in Arthur’s own heart. This particular part of the armour removal process was new, and Arthur smiled blearily at the joyous flipping of his own stomach. The growth of their relationship over the past few months had been unhurried and organic, though chatter around the castle was beginning to grow louder; damn Morgana and her gossiping. Merlin slept in Arthur’s bed more often than his own these days, although sleep was all they did, and without permission had begun to bring enough breakfast for two in the morning.

One blissful minute turned into two, and then Merlin’s hands slipped free and migrated to the buckle of Arthur’s sword belt. Within a moment Merlin was in front of him again, placing the sword aside and motioning for space to remove the chainmail. Finally, off came the mud-caked gambeson - both young men regarded the offending padded linen jacket as though it should be burned, so offensive was the smell it carried.

“I think it’s bath, food, bed,” chuckled Arthur even as Merlin clearly made the decision for him by pulling his tunic off over his head.

“I think you’re right, you really do stink,” the brunette agreed, wrinkling his nose as he counted the bruises making themselves known upon Arthur’s torso and arms.

“You can talk, you smell like you’ve been rolling around with the pigs,” Arthur retorted, toeing off his boots, then his socks, and promptly shucking his breeches and underclothes in one smooth movement. “Is the water warm enough?” he added as an afterthought, crossing naked and unconcerned to stand by the wooden bathtub.

“Should be, I made it too hot to begin with,” Merlin sighed, finally sinking down into a chair and stretching his long legs before him. Arthur knew he was watching as he climbed into the bath, the prickle of his gaze hotter than a brand upon his skin - if there hadn’t been a real danger of falling asleep where he stood, Arthur knew the reaction of his body would have betrayed him.

As he settled back into the water, Arthur allowed his breath to escape him in one great rush.

“You have so many scars.”

It was a statement, more than a question, and the blonde darted a cursory glance down the length of his own body. Faintly tanned skin, criss-crossed by umpteen bright white and fading pink slashes, interspersed with purpling bruises. He’d never paid attention to these marks and wasn’t about to start now - instead, Arthur sank further and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

“You never know, Merlin, maybe one day I’ll let you count them,” he said cheekily, buoyed by the other man’s dark chuckle.

“I look forward to it,” Merlin smiled, the implications lacing his tone enough to make Arthur blush. “You seem to have almost as many as me, now,” he added, laughing freely at the glare suddenly levelled at him.

“ _Almost as many_? I’m a warrior! You spent the first two and a half years of your time in Camelot in the stocks!”

“Correction,” said Merlin, his mouth full, “I spent my first two and a half years in Camelot saving your ungrateful backside while you swanned around looking pretty and being wilfully ignorant. I have an awful lot of scars that could have been avoided.”

“I was not being wilfully ignorant,” muttered Arthur churlishly. “How many scars do you have, then?” he asked, veiling his genuine curiosity with what he hoped sounded like derision. Across the room, Merlin shrugged, his eyes sparkling.

“No idea. Maybe you can count mine while I’m counting yours.”

His gaze lowered at that, an unmistakable flush rising to his cheeks. For a moment, Arthur truly pondered it. Quickly he realised that this way lies madness and pushed the thought away for perusal later, coughing roughly to break the tension which had pulled him tight enough to snap once again.

“Come and help me wash my hair.”

Merlin made a good show of huffing and pouting on his way over, though Arthur suggest he shed his boots and jacket for comfort, which seemed to cheer the sorcerer slightly. By the time his sleeves were rolled up and his fingers were working soap into Arthur’s scalp, however, the contentment which rolled off him was palpable.

“I really don’t have to do this, you know,” he complained without heat. Arthur huffed a laugh.

“It’s a privilege. Stop complaining.”

“I’m fairly sure your father and Morgana wash their own hair, you know.”

“Well, more fool them. Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it.”

Arthur shrieked - manfully, of course - as Merlin flicked his ear, answering with a yelp of his own as the prince tossed a handful of water into his face.

“Thanks,” came the voice from behind. “Just what I wanted. A mouthful of your dirty bathwater.”

“A _privilege_ ,” Arthur reminded him, closing his eyes once more and gasping in shock as Merlin began to rinse his hair off by dumping bucketfuls of water over his head with wicked glee.

Once he was suitably dry and dressed in his sleep clothes, Arthur settled down to eat. Merlin seemed to be preparing to remove the bath, the longing evident in his weary eyes.

“Is there a spell to clean the water?” asked Arthur mildly, piling his plate with cheese and meat and fruit. Glancing askance at his prince, Merlin paused.

“Yes, why?”

“Clean the water then use the bath, if you like - I expect it’s bigger than the one Gaius has in his chambers.”

Lower lip thrust outwards in confusion, Merlin stared at him as though he were in the process of growing a second head.

“You’re going to let me use your bath tub? Why?”

With a jerk of his head, Arthur motioned the other closer, reaching up to wind a hand around his neckerchief to pull his face close.

“Because,” he murmured, “you’re tired, and sore, and filthy just like I was. Plus, I assume you’ll be sleeping here tonight. If you’re going to be in my bed, you’re going to be clean.”

“The other servants will talk even more than they already do.”

“Let them.”

At that, Arthur hitched Merlin closer to capture his lips in a daring kiss; their kisses had provedfew and far between, although they seemed to be growing in frequency as the weeks went by. Merlin’s hands trembled as they came to rest on Arthur’s shoulders, and he released a shaky little breath which Arthur drank in greedily.

The embrace was slow and tender, loaded with promise, and it was with great regret that Arthur broke it to push Merlin away towards the bath. Apparently past all of his protestations, Merlin mumbled some spells as he undressed behind the screen, the water in the wooden tub returning from murky to crystal clear, tendrils of steam once again rising from the surface. Arthur kept his gaze lowered respectfully towards his dinner as Merlin darted out and into the bath, groaning in relief as he lowered his aching muscles into the water.

They chattered inanely back and forth as Arthur finished his plate and Merlin cleaned himself. The prince resisted the urge to begin cataloguing the scars he could see latticed across the alabaster-esque skin before him - he decided that he would hold onto that urge until they had more time, and could sprawl next to the other man to hear the story of each individual mark before blessing it with a brush of his lips.

As Merlin continued to prattle, Arthur contemplated the fact they had not broken that final seal of intimacy. Somehow, there was a silently mutual understanding that there was no rush. Whatever they had seemed somehow _more_ than just the need to bed one another, although the curl of want in Arthur’s belly was present more often than it was absent, when Merlin was around. They had each lain with others before - male and female, both - so were in no teenage hurry to shed their clothes and tumble into bed. The time did seem to be growing closer, however, and they both knew it: could feel it inching closer like a storm on the horizon which would wash them away.

Taking an initiative which Merlin immediately began to mock as out of character, Arthur devoted himself to the task of washing the inky black curls he so loved to touch. 

“Maybe we should trade places, you’re good at this,” Merlin mused as he allowed himself to be rinsed. Arthur rolled his eyes derisively.

“Not on your life, sorcerer,” he yawned, trailing towards his bed as Merlin hauled himself upright and began to dry off. Just as Arthur flopped face first onto the plush coverlet, his companion let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m going to have to send someone for clean sleeping clothes from my chambers,” he explained as Arthur turned over and raised one questioning brow. “I’ll get someone to fetch them before they take the bath away.” The prince rolled his eyes again, confounded at the stupidity of the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth.

“ _Mer_ lin,” he began, “I have more than enough clothes for you to borrow some. I’m sure if you use that single braincell of yours you’ll find some old things that’ll fit you.”

“Always so rude…” muttered Merlin, pulling his towel closer around his body and padding over to the cupboard where Arthur’s clothes were kept. He began to root around inside, finally coming away with a navy tunic which had seen better days and some soft breeches the prince had worn to bed in his late teens. They’d been his favourite, he remembered, eyes tracking Merlin as he slipped behind the screen once more to dress himself.

Arthur closed his eyes and listened to the soft sigh of fabric as the towel hit the floor, then the whisper of cloth over skin as Merlin pulled on his borrowed outfit. The sound of his bare feet padding on the stone floor made Arthur’s heart stutter with familiarity and contentment. Merlin’s voice was low as he opened the door and summoned a more junior servant. The authoritative tone in his voice was not one Arthur was accustomed to hearing, and he smirked gleefully at Merlin when he turned around.

“What are you grinning at?” Merlin asked, moving to perch on the trunk at the end of the bed - all the better to maintain some illusion at propriety, what with the open door and the impending return of servants.

“You, dollophead.”

“That’s my word.”

“I think it suits you more, personally.”

“My lord?”

Their bickering was interrupted by the prompt arrival of two young servants appearing in the doorway. Arthur could feel their eyes on him, brazen in the way their gazes flicked between his own reclined form and Merlin lounging comfortably nearby. Belatedly, he realised their wet hair was incriminating; no doubt by dawn the rumour they’d bathed together would be circulating as far as the outlying villages, but let them talk. Attempting to regain some control of the situation, Arthur narrowed his eyes in his best regal stare and flapped one imperious hand to set the boys to work. At the end of the bed, Merlin choked on a guffaw. Arthur kicked him roughly in response.

After what felt like an eternity, the door was finally bolted and Merlin tossed himself onto the bed appearing utterly worn to the bone. Eagerly, Arthur accepted his lazy kiss, hands resting lightly on Merlin’s waist where he hovered above him. Kissing this man was fast becoming one of Arthur’s favourite pastimes, and he readily relinquished control to him the moment his plush lips changed from gentle to insistent. He allowed Merlin to kiss him as he pleased, the weight of him welcome when their chests met, his lips yielding to the questing tongue which darted out to seek his own. Tonight was not the night, they both felt it, but lay content in the warmth of their passionate embrace.

Desperately, Arthur tried to pour all of the things he could not articulate into the kiss: his love, his thankfulness, his joy. As best he could, he told Merlin how relieved he was that they were still alive and well and together, all without words and only the press of his lips and the grip of his hands. The bloodshed of the previous days had held so many close calls, and it was by sheer miracle alone that they were even lying here.

When they finally broke apart, the sun had fully set. Merlin flopped to the side, breathless, and seemingly absentmindedly conjured a ball of blueish white light to hover in his palm. He tossed it back and forth - it never seemed to quite meet his skin, lingering a breath away and casting marvellous shadows around the room. Arthur reached out one finger and brushed the edge of it. It was ice cold, the shock of it shooting straight to his heart before making him draw his hand away again in surprise.

“You didn’t use an incantation,” he said, flexing his fingers to relieve them of their sudden numbness. Merlin shook his head.

“I was born with magic - I don’t need to. Especially not for simple, elemental things, like conjuring a light to guide a stupid, noble prat towards safety,” he grinned in response. Arthur snorted -he knew the story. With his free hand, Merlin turned Arthur’s own palm up and slid the ball of light onto it. Just like it had not touched Merlin, it remained a hair away from Arthur. The glacial coolness he’d felt before was now replaced by a gentle, tingling warmth reminiscent of the evening sun. He examined it closely, horribly aware of the way Merlin was watching him as though he was something precious.

“So what are the incantations for, then? Harder spells?” Arthur continued, fighting off the blush threatening to crest on his cheeks. Merlin hummed and wobbled his head from side to side.

“Sort of. For me, at least, incantations just help me to focus my magic. I could probably do most things without one, if I set my mind to it. I’ve never met another sorcerer who could do that - most need incantations and spells to do anything. That’s why, for most, magic is learned. Even someone without any natural talent could learn to… I don’t know… light a candle flame, for example.”

Pondering, Arthur threw the ball of light into the air and caught it. The weight was substantial, and it felt like a solid chunk of metal when it landed back in the air above his cupped palm. He was born of magic, was he not?

“Do you think I could learn?” he asked, too afraid of the answer to look at his companion. With a snap of fingers, the ball of light shot into the air and bobbed a few feet above their heads.

“Are you, the crown prince of Camelot, son of _Uther Pendragon_ , asking me to teach you magic? Have you finally lost your mind?” Merlin squawked. His eyelids, which had seemed on the verge of fluttering closed, were suddenly wide with unmistakable panic.

“I’m not asking you to teach me anything,” Arthur reasoned. “I’m just asking if you think I could learn.”

“Of _course_ you could learn, you prat. You are made of magic just as I am - it’s what bonds us so closely. If anything, I’m made of your magic, really.”

“Then yes, I suppose I am asking you to teach me.”

“But - ”

“Not here, not now,” interjected Arthur levelly, pressing a single finger against Merlin’s lips to quiet him. “But maybe someday. Just something simple. Like how to light a candle flame, if you think my tiny brain can handle it.”

A beat passed, then Merlin’s smile broke free like the sun emerging through the clouds. Slowly, he nodded, before Arthur found himself being tugged in for another fierce kiss.

A short while later they lay curled around one another beneath the blankets. Merlin curved around Arthur’s back, arm clamped around his waist to anchor them tightly together. The sorcerer had used his extra inch of height as the perfect excuse to be the big spoon, but Arthur found that he did not mind; the nose nuzzled into his hair made him feel loved and the fingers wound through his helped secure him, drawing his mind away from the horrors of the battlefield.

—

Arthur’s eyes fluttered open to find Merlin also waking next to him, his expression mellow and sleep soft. The late morning sunshine filtered through the gap in the curtains and illuminated the blue flecks in his unruly hair.

“G’morning,” grumbled Arthur, reaching up to rub sleep from his eyes.

“Morning,” came the yawned response - Merlin shuffled closer and pressed his forehead to Arthur’s, closing his eyes once again.

“Shouldn’t we be getting up? I have to train the knights, and Gaius will need you for chores.”

Even as he said it, the prince wished desperately that they could instead stay like this, resting their stiff limbs and recuperating from the ordeal of the last few days. Groaning, Merlin screwed his eyes up tightly and slipped a hand underneath Arthur’s tunic, splaying his palm flat on the warm skin at the small of his back.

“As your manservant, I’m in charge of keeping your schedule, right?”

“I suppose you are, yes. Gods help us all.”

“Then I have conveniently forgotten everything that was listed there until lunchtime. I’m in charge of when you get up, and so I say not yet. Go back to sleep.”

“You sly thing. I like it.”

“Yeah, I have my uses. Now, do shut up and let me sleep. I was having the most delicious dream.”

"Oh really? About what?" 

"About you." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and for your love on this series! <3


End file.
